Daddy's Dearest
by Azzandra
Summary: Alistair gets a visit from the child he never thought he'd meet. One shot.


There are regrets. For all that they call him a good king and a champion of the people, there are still many, many regrets.

This one in particular, however, he'd managed to bury somehow in the distant corners of his mind and after enough time had passed, he filed it under bad memory and moved on.

Until his little regret runs up to him and calls him 'daddy'.

* * *

Actually, she doesn't actually run up to him, so much as sneaks into his room and waits for him there, and she doesn't so much call him 'daddy' as point-blank ask him if, oh, about seventeen years ago, he happened to knock boots with a woman of Morrigan's description.

Alistair nearly chokes on his own spit out of shock as he looks down at the brunette girl with hazel eyes. She looks back at him, face utterly serious, expecting an answer, even as he is still reeling from the fact that _a girl just jumped out of the shadows and asked him if he'd had sex with Morrigan_!

"Wha-- who-- what-- how do you know about that?" he demands, and it doesn't even occur to him that she is his daughter until after she breaks out into an utterly goofy grin, throws open her arms and exclaims, "Daddy!", before tackling him into a hug.

He is so stunned by this development, that the only thing he can do is hug back.

* * *

The girl introduces herself as Rhiannon, and Alistair has to begrudgingly admit that it isn't a completely horrible name, even if Morrigan was the one to choose it.

"Is Morrigan with you?" he asks.

Rhiannon scoffs.

"That scary old hag? I should think not!" comes the reply, and that is the moment he knows for sure she is his daughter.

* * *

She doesn't sit still for a moment, moving from one end of the room to another, touching everything, picking up small objects, feeling up fabrics, inspecting the sturdiness of furniture, and she doesn't stop talking, either.

"I've done well to be rid of her. Had I been forced to sit through another one of her lectures, I would have gone mad and run into the wilds to become a mushroom farmer," she says as she admires a tapestry, then pushes it aside to see what is behind it. "I am not a child anymore, I do not need her hovering one step behind me all the time."

And Alistair is trying to picture a motherly Morrigan, but fails utterly at it. His only point of comparison is Flemeth, unfortunately, and the old Witch of the Wilds did not seem to mesh well with this 'hovering mother' image Rhiannon was painting.

"She must be worried about you," Alistair remarks.

Rhiannon pauses for a brief moment, staring at him.

"Worried, perhaps, but surely not surprised," she says in the end. "I've told her countless times I would one day escape her tyrannical oppression to forge my own way in the world and for all she knows, I truly _have_ cut off my hair, joined a traveling show and started calling myself Edwin."

And he can't help a small grin, but this is _serious_, because he can't have Morrigan storm into the castle like a pissed off momma bear that can shoot lightning, demanding her daughter's whereabouts. It's the sort of thing that can't end terribly well for anyone, and especially not for him. But if she _does_ come, she might take his daughter-- their daughter-- away again and he might never get the chance to see her after today.

"Well, I suppose if we have a slew of strange traveling show attacks, we'll know she's on the way," Alistair sighs.

Rhiannon grins in that manner he can only describe as 'goofy' and he realizes she must have gotten that particular expression from his side of the family, because there was no way Morrigan had such an endearing trait.

* * *

She tells him of strange dreams in which she is trapped underground, calling out to be rescued, and this is the first time Alistair feels a pang of guilt and fear and apprehension. He knows what she was, he knows the soul she carries in this vessel he helped create, but she doesn't and that is for the best, because he also knows the atrocities committed by this old soul in its past life.

"I have such terrible headaches when I think of these dreams," she mutters, rubbing her temples tiredly. "Let us not speak of this any longer, yes?"

And he agrees, because she is a child yet, and there is no easy way to say _of course you have headaches, you had a SWORD shoved through your skull! I was THERE!_

So he welcomes the change of subject.

* * *

"So... was I everything you expected?" he asks with his most winning smile.

"Not at all, in fact," she replies after a moment of thought. "I had pictured someone a little more... I mean a little less... well... Not quite so..." She struggles for words. He doesn't know if this is a good thing or not.

"Majestic? Heroic? Handsome?" he offers.

"Normal," she says instead, and he must have looked slightly disappointed, because she rushes to add: "Not that it's a bad thing, but with my mother's taste in men being what it is, and the way she spoke of you, I had rather imagined a cross between an ogre, a dog and a toad." A pause. "Wearing a jester's hat."

"...A jester's hat?" Alistair repeats incredulously.

"The kind with the little bells," she explains while, to her credit, looking quite abashed. "Reality far exceeded my expectations, I must admit. I sense this does not happen often for anyone."

"Yes, well, I suppose 'normal' really _is_ high praise for anything that falls into Morrigan's bed," he comments.

"My, such vitriol, from both of you!" Rhiannon laughs. "Your tryst must have ended badly, indeed!"

And Alistair laughs, then changes the subject, because that was getting, once again, much too close to 'swords through skulls' territory.

* * *

"Ah, but was _I_ everything _you_ expected?" Rhiannon asks.

"My dear Rhiannon, it's safe to say that you were utterly and completely unexpected," he replies.

She accepts this answer, thankfully.

* * *

Morrigan comes, inevitably.

She looks only marginally older than the day of the battle, with wrinkles that do not detract from her harsh beauty and only a few white hairs streaking her dark locks, most likely Rhiannon's doing. Morrigan pays Alistair no attention, instead choosing to focus her wrath on her daughter.

"Foolish girl! Do you know the trouble you've caused me?" the Witch of the Wilds asks accusingly.

"No, I do not, mother, but I am sure I will soon hear about it at great and painful length," Rhiannon replies cheekily.

"You will come with me at once!" Morrigan demands.

"Oh, I think not, mother," Rhiannon replies and steps up to Alistair, hugging him from the side. "Father and I are bonding, you see."

"Bonding?" Morrigan repeats, furious. "You've been here for what, an hour? Two?"

"We are quite fast bonders, father and I," Rhiannon persists.

"Oh yes, very fast bonders," Alistair confirms, even though he feels like he is poking an angry bear by doing so. "Runs in the family."

"And besides, it has been four hours, not two," Rhiannon adds.

"Petulant child," Morrigan hisses. She is exasperated, but some of the anger has drained out of her. "I will be back in the morning. You will have quelled your ill-advised curiosity by then and you will come home quietly."

And she disappears through a window into the darkness as the sound of flapping wings can be heard growing distant.

Rhiannon smiles sadly at her father.

"I fear I can not run far or fast enough quite yet, but that day is not far off. She will not be able to keep me forever."

Alistair feels like a traitor for the fact that her statement makes him feel just as much fear as hope.

---

Author's note: Rhiannon's name comes from a phrase in old Celtic meaning "great queen". Morrigan's name comes from Irish and also means "great queen". That is about all the reasoning that went into the naming process.

Don't expect this to be continued. It was just something that's been kicking around in my head and you all must know how deeply those plotbunnies can latch onto your ankles.


End file.
